


you cut through all the noise

by lulsbian



Category: Bastille (Band)
Genre: Angst, Emetophobia, Hanahaki Disease, I HOPE YOU AL L ENJOY IT BECAUSE ME VOICE: AAAAAAAAAAAAA, ITS NOT EVEN THAT GOOD AND I SPENT LIKE 2 MONTHS ON IT, M/M, and its a fucking!!! ITS A FUCKIN ONE SHOT, hell idk what else to tag this uhhhhhh, this is 4k words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-18 11:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12387279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lulsbian/pseuds/lulsbian
Summary: He honestly forgot about the life scare he had all those years ago. There wasn’t anybody else he connected with as hard, so for a long time, there were no flowers.Until he met Kyle Jonathan Fucking Simmons.





	you cut through all the noise

Dan thinks he’s hallucinating at first. His bed was red with flowers, it seemed like what love would be like if represented physically. It was dreamlike, it was beautiful.

And then a thorn cuts through the top of his mouth.

Unmistakably, he’s realizing that he’s actually gagging up flowers and thorns of all things, and that this isn’t a dream. He’s only 16, and he’s sitting here thinking, ‘What the fuck is wrong with me, what the fuck is going on,’ as he’s searching “IM THROWING UP FLOWERS AM I DYING” into the Google box but it comes out more like “IIM THTORWONIG UP FLOFWERS AMM I DIYNG” due to his trembling hands and it’s all surreal but not in the ethereal, artistic way it was before.

Dan’s trying heavily to not, y’know, throw up blood all over his keyboard and he reads, “Hanahaki Disease is characterized as a physical characteristic of Unrequited Longing, mainly towards a person, which forms in the victim’s lungs. Rose-like stems grow inside the organs, as petal-esque pieces of flesh, dyed red due to blood, sprout.”

He groans. “This isn’t real. Does this article think I’m a dumbass? _Unrequited Longing_ my ass,” Dan scoffs out loud. Sure, there was Tyler, but that totally wasn’t a crush or anything, because guess what? Tyler’s a guy, and Dan’s not gay at all, it was just a friend thing to hope your pal was alright and that they sleep well and stay safe and that _maybe_ someday they’d sleep in the same bed at a sleepover and - Oh, Jesus Christ, this can’t be real.

Instead of getting help for his lungs, he tries to hide it. It’s really gross to Dan, having to stick his hand up his throat to gag up petals, and by God was it painful when he felt the spikes poke inside his lungs. He somehow managed to pull a ‘stem’ out, and it was in the top 10 most horrific, traumatizing things that Dan has had to feel, only outnumbered by the fact that he’d have to wait _25 fucking years_ for Twin Peaks to come back.

He hopes it's a one time thing, it hurts so much. But it’s not. It keeps happening, especially after school, after a long day of looking at his friend, after certain side glances, after realizing that Tyler would never like him back and it’s all for naught and that he can’t breathe because _oh no._ Fuck.

Of course, Dan’s mom finds out at one point. After explaining what he found on the internet (with the obvious response of “Don't believe what you see online, sweetheart.”), the two go to the hospital, where the doctor gives the epitome of “idk lol” as a response.

Dan’s mom looked around for a long time, to see if there were any doctors who knew about this ‘Hannah Hockey’ disease, but she realized that Dan stopped after a while. Recently, he was transferred to another school (a ‘problematic students’ school because apparently having a panic attack a couple of times during class is ‘bad behavior’ and thus needs to be punished instead of getting help.), so Dan didn’t see Tyler much anymore. The love faded away.

He honestly forgot about the life scare he had all those years ago. There wasn’t anybody else he connected with as hard, so for a long time, there were no flowers.

Dan had gone to college, he had discovered his love for music, met this guy named Ralph (who he remembered crushing on, but he didn’t get the petals like before. Thinking back on it now, maybe those feelings were reciprocated?), and so much more. There are two other dudes he met, Woody and Will, and slowly, they were creating a band, getting plays at small, local bars. It all seemed good.

Until he met Kyle Jonathan _Fucking_ Simmons.

At first, it was just them talking, acquaintances meeting every so often at parties. Soon, Dan was asking if Kyle would want to be a part of his band, no reason more than the fact that Kyle could play a mean keyboard. One thing lead to another, and the two were hanging out everyday.

Crushes don’t seem to be recognized slowly, it hits all at once. And that’s exactly what happened.

Kyle was listening to Dan play some basic notes on the keyboard, while he improved the bland melodies through the power of his fingertips. Dan tries to sing, to add along, so they can see what the final song could be like in the piano department, but Kyle asks, “Could you do the left side of the thing. I’ll do the right, if that’s okay with you, lad?”

“U-uh, yeah.” Dan murmurs, because he’s looking Kyle in the face and just admiring every part of him, especially his eyes that look like a Friday night, gorgeous & loud. Everything about him, Dan realized in that moment, was stunning.

“You don’t have to!”  
  
“N-no! It’s not that! I, uh, I just zoned out for a bit. I’m sorry, man,” Dan apologizes, as he starts to just randomly press notes until Kyle cracks his knuckles and places his hand so close to Dan’s. His hand is so soft, even when it just faintly brushes against him, with a texture like a rose petal.  


Oh. Shit.

When Dan finally asked, “So… when are you guys leaving?” to Kyle, (who Dan _hoped_ understood that it wasn't in a ‘you're annoying i hope you die’ way but in a ‘oh my god interacting with people is fucking exhausting’ way.) he left to the bathroom, knowing exactly why he felt seconds away from passing out.

It sucks. It _fucking_ sucks. Dan doesn't know what he did to have fucking _flowers_ of all things decide to just fill his organs until one finally either suffocated him or tore through the layers of his lungs and cause his body to just collapse upon itself.

He thinks that, maybe, he could say Kyle had to leave the band. Maybe Dan would forget like he did with what's-his-fa… Tyler.

But when Kyle comes over tomorrow, so excited about working with Dan, with his towering stature and _very good_ beard and the ecstatic look in his eyes, Dan realizes he's in **_way_ ** too deep to tell Kyle to fuck off or whatever.

So, instead of doing something about his condition, Dan ignores it. It’s gonna go away at some point, right? It’s not the most fun thing in the world, but Dan’s a broke kid just out of college, still without a job, he did _not_ care enough to go back to the doctor.

It worked out fine, Dan guesses. For some reason, generic cough medicine made the flowers not be so preset. There were a couple of episodes, yeah, but it was really better than dying every time he tries working with his own band.

Dan still just wants to kiss that stupid man in all his 6’3’’ glory, but even when they tour, Dan manages his love. He manages the flowers until it's late at night, where no one will find out.

  


Of course, the band’s ignorance doesn’t last forever.

Woody walks in first.

“Hey Dan, are you o- _what the fuck_.”

To be fair, it did look like a crime scene until Dan cleaned up. It was a pretty bad fit compared to the lesser ones, but it wasn’t deadly.

“Did you fucking _kill_ a man, Daniel?”

“I mean, only myself, and I’m not dying yet, technically.”

Woody leans down, looking at the pool of blood and thorns. “Are these _flowers?_ What do you mean you’re hurting yourself,” His face dropped, “You don’t mean…”

“Oh my god, no, not like that Woody.” Dan starts rambling with a nervous giggle. “It's just t-that, fuck, it's like I’ve had this problem for a really long time. It’s called Hanahaki Disease or something? And I throw up pieces of flesh or else they’ll like, suffocate me, and they bloom almost like flowers and it’s all _really_ weird and this sounds so fake and so I understand if you don’t believe me.”

“I only got like half of that. How the fuck did this start happening?” Woody asks.

“I don’t know? It’s based off of unrequited longing, like when someone doesn’t like you back. Which is weird because, I’m sure you don’t believe in like fate or the stars or some shit-”

“Don’t even get me started on that bullshit.”

“Well, I don’t know, maybe it’s real? Either way I like someone and it’s obvious they won’t like me back if everything I’ve read is true and if I don’t stop liking hi- _them_ , it’s gonna _kill_ me.”

Woody stares at Dan in disbelief. “I don’t know _why_ I’m trusting you on this, probably because, y’know,” he points at the bloody floor, “but I-, have you looked for a cure?”

“Besides forcing myself to stop interacting with them? There’s none.”

“Can’t you do that, then?”

“Woody,” he sighs. He’s still not out yet, and explaining that it’s literally someone who, if he leaves, the entire band collapses, would be like starting the engine of a train two meters away from a cliff, and he doesn’t know Woody’s thoughts on being gay, so it’s better to just shut up.

“I guess not?” Woody asks.

Dan just shakes his head. Woody goes back to bed.

Dick finds out next, during the middle of the tour for the second album. It’s late at night, Dan’s busy whispering swears as thorns cut through the top of his mouth, when Dick walks in.

“Smith, what’s wrong?” he asks, not looking at the singer.

When he turns, he understands what’s wrong.

“I didn’t kill anyone!” Dan panics, yelling the first thing that comes to his mind.

“Didn’t think you did. But, what the hell is this?” The petals and blood are mostly contained into the toilet bowl besides the two, staring at them like how you’d look at a train wreck: disgusted, yet you can’t look away.

Dan’s face goes pale, because explaining it to your friend is easy, but explaining it to the man who’s basically your babysitter isn’t.

“Well, it's, uh, like, god this is gonna sound ridiculous…” he says while wiping a bit of blood off the corner of his mouth.

“Spit it out, Dan. It’s okay.”

He takes a deep breath. “So, _basically,_ I have this condition where I throw up flesh, it’s easier to call them flowers though because it’s what it looks like and it makes it sound more beautiful but people _honestly_ aren’t going to believe that. It started when I was like… I don't know, 16? I think? But you know I’m stupid but _anyways_ , it started somewhere around then and-”

“Dan.”

“Wait, let me finish, basically I discovered it’s also life threatening but it stopped after I had to move to a different school because my dumb ass had to have an anxiety attack but that’s irrelevant but basically it stopped happening? But I met someone else and he- I mean _they_ \- made it happen again and it’s been okay mostly but I-”

_“Daniel.”_

“Like, I do this most nights and only Woody’s found out during our first tour which is honestly a life-saver because it’s easy to explain to Woody because, I mean, it’s Woody. But also there’s times like there was this one guy during our time in Europe and he was nice and we held hands and I basically almost threw up on him which would’ve been disgusting but I-”

**_“SMITH.”_ **

_"What?_ ” Dan snaps, looking up.

“Don’t ramble when your mouth’s bleeding.”

The singer looks down, his once-white shirt looking like a crime scene. “Ah.”

The two stare at the shirt in silence, until Dick starts talking again. “Should we cancel the tour? I mean like, this can’t be healthy, and I care about your guys’s health.”

“It surprisingly doesn’t fuck up my singing voice too bad?” Dan says, with a hint of a question. “Like, I guess I’ve trained myself to be use to it.”

“I guess. Have you gone to a doctor?”

“Uh…” Dan stares down, flushed. “Not since it started. There’s not really a point, since it’s incurable right now.”

“Shit,” is all Dick says. “You should probably go to another one. And by probably, I mean definitely. Is it deadly?”

Dan gulps. “Yeah. Sometime it’s gonna choke me out.” The manager’s face fills with panic, so all Dan reassures is, “Not yet! It won’t kill me yet!”

“Alright.” the man says. “Still, don’t die. You’re contractually obliged now to not die.”

All Dan can do is laugh.

Dan is sitting there, twiddling his thumbs, when Woody basically _rips_ through the door.

**_“DAN, HOLY FUCK.”_ **

Dan, pretending that he didn’t just have the biggest jumpscare of his life, turns around on his bed to look at the drummer. “What’s wrong?"

“Cure. Life-long. You. The. Uh, y’know. What was it called?”

“Hanahaki?”

“ **Yes.** Cure."

Dan giggles at Woody’s excitement, he’s never really seen Woody stutter like this, but he knows that the ‘cure’ is probably some internet hoax. Woody plops his phone into Dan’s hand, making _sure_ Dan reads it.

“With this new discovery by Dr. Akirameru, it’s possible that the rare, once fatal psychological illness known as Hanahaki Disease could come to an end,” Dan mutters as he reads the article out loud. “Through a surgical procedure called ‘HH 12-15-22-5’, the growth in the body caused by certain chemicals in the brain associated with Unrequited Longing can be removed.”

Woody’s eye lightened up. “You just have to do that! Yeah, it’s probably in like, Japan or some shit, but we’re platinum record sellers. I think we have the money,” he giggled.

Dan looked up at the child-like Woody, and then continued through the article. “Akirameru, while discussing the surgery, told us this. ‘This surgery can, and will, be life saving to those suffering from this unfortunate disease. However, I can’t expect there to be no side-effects. Via removal of the growth, it appears that the feelings of longing and love for the non-reciprocating person disappear from the victim. I also insist that the victim stays away from their old lover, as there’s a possibility the growth can come back even stronger.’”

Smith hated this. He saw how absolutely overjoyed Woody was, but there was something inside Dan that was screaming at him. “Woody, I-I. I don’t know if I could do it…” he muttered.

“What? Are you sure? Why not?” Woody’s eyes filled with worry.

Dan panics. Woody doesn’t know. Of _fucking_ course it has to be like this. Not even thinking about how, despite everything, Dan still wants to love Kyle and everything about him, but from the viewpoint of the band, not having Kyle anymore? It’d be fucked.

"I-I just can't! Woody, I know, you're super excited about this, but there's a large problem with, uh,"

"The fact that you'd have to lose them?" Woody's trying to be understanding, but Dan can tell that his patience is running thin.

"Y-yeah. I guess it's that..." Dan scratches his head, "but also. I-it's more than that, I..." he can't come up with the words. It's so fucking stupid, because he knows that Woody would be accepting, but when it's either the band stays together or Dan has his life, is it really beneficial for Woody to struggle with that as well?

Either way, the drummer's pouting. "Would... you really rather die, Dan?"

"I guess so..? When you put it that way, yeah."

"Dan..." his voice goes down to a whisper, "Please. You're way too important to me and everyone else to risk your life like this."

"Woody, I wish I could explain, it's just..." Dan's trying not to cry, which is fucking stupid, because he doesn't _deserve_ to cry. He's the one making the option to die, for fuck's sake!

"No." Woody says angrily. "I get it, Daniel." He gets up, angrily pacing around.

"Please calm down, Woody..."

"You'd rather _die_ than have the band together? You'd rather die and have everyone, and I mean _everyone_ , fucking lose their shit in the entire crew? Like, most of the world?"

"I- fuck, Woody, It’s not like I don't care about you guys!" Dan's voice is barely a whisper.

"Well, **_obviously_ ** something's **_fucking_ ** up if you're making the goddamn decision to **_die_ ** rather than lose your perfect one-sided crush. When the flowers of fate or **_whatever_ ** are saying that they'll never like you back." Woody's pulling his hair, Dan's never seen him like this. It was terrifying.

"Daniel. If you're not going to go through with this, when you know other people definitely don't have the fortune we do to get it removed, and they don't have the _option_ to live or suffocate, it's just fucking selfish! Do you love a person who won't love you back so much, you're blind to the grief your death will cause. Because, **_Smith_ ** , if you're lying on the ground suffocating and telling yourself that nobody loved you, it's fucking bullshit. Because I love you, and _all_ of us do. But you're the cunt who'd rather die than have feelings other than a highschool girl with a crush."

Woody slammed the door on his way out.

And Dan wanted to die.

 

Woody comes into Dan’s room an hour later, face riddled with guilt.

“You good?” he asks. Dan replies with a mix of a whine and a sad groan.

“Listen, Dan, I don’t know what got into me,” he walks forwards to the bus’s bed, where Dan laid, his face covered by the pillows. “I guess, I don’t know, I can’t understand it, but I shouldn’t of yelled at you like… that.”

Woody rubbed his hand on his other shoulder, nervously waiting for Dan’s response.

“It’s shouldn’t _have,_ not _of._ ”

Woody’s face lit up a bit. “So, you’re not upset?”

“A little bit. Could feel better.” He lifts himself up with his arms, looking at the drummer. “Look, I- uh, I know it's hard to understand, but I’m not trying to be selfish,” he sighed. “It’d make more sense if…” Dan stops. Should he? “I-if you knew who it was.”

“You don’t gotta tell me if you don’t want to!” Woody raises his hands, starting to scratch his neck anxiously.

Dan sighs, and leans into Woody’s chest, grabbing onto his cotton tee as the waves of embarrassment hit him. “It’s, fuck, it’s Kyle,” he laughed his anxiety away, “Don’t say you knew it.”

“Okay… but I totally knew it.”

“Fair.” Dan looks up again, “But I, it's like, it’s not just me ‘wanting to die,’ I’m not _that_ edgy anymore, it’s more like… I can’t have my own needs destroy the band.” There’s a poster on the tour bus’s wall, and Dan looks at it, of the people staring off into the skyline. “And maybe, maybe a bit of me not wanting to lose him.”

“Oh.” Woody stops and thinks. “I mean, I still don’t want you to die.”

“You think I do? Wanna die, I mean.”

The drummer smirks, “Have you listened to your own songs?”

 

Will’s the last who walks in.

It kept getting worse, the flowers, the coughing, the amount of blood, fucking _everything_ was getting worse and worse and Dan wanted to pull his hair out.

Normally, he waits until night to take care of his garbage, but it was early morning when Dan started choking, sitting on the bathroom floor.

The bassist’s reaction is less than Dan expected.

“That doesn’t look or sound good.”

“No fucking shit,” Dan laughs. “Thought you’d be more surprised.”

“Eh, Woody told me some details,” Will shrugged.

 _Of fucking course, Woody has been,_ Dan yells internally.

“How much?” Dan asks, followed by him covering his bloody mouth, remembering Dick’s anger.

“Only that you had the hots for Kyle and that it’s quite literally killing you.” Will stops after seeing the pure rage and fear mixed in Dan’s eyes. “He _also_ told me that if I told Kyle, you’d kill me, there has been no word of mouth towards him.”

Dan tries to respond, but he starts choking again. “God, fuck, Will…”

He leans over the toilet bowl, shaking. Suddenly, he’s gagging, and it hurts so much there’s tears coming out of his eyes.

“Oh, fuck.” Will leans down next to the singer, patting him like how you’d burp a baby.

“That’s, _christ Will,_ that’s not helping!” Dan manages out, followed with a nervous chuckle.

“Sorry! It’s gonna be okay though, I promise you that.”

Dan hopes and prays for it to stop but it _keeps going,_ and he wants to cry because why did he have to be the one to go through this.

“Stay calm, Danny. It’s good. You’re good.”

“I- fuck,” Dan’s sobbing now. “I know I’ve wanted to die before, but I didn’t _imagine_ it like this.”

Will nods his head. There’s not much more to say.

  


He tells Kyle about his condition with the rest of the band by his side.

It was easier to do so, if he had Will and Woody to help. He wasn’t telling Kyle his love, because that would be a death sentence right there. All Dan was going to do was say, “Kyle, I’m dying.”

Easier said than done, considering Kyle’s laughter, him giggling, “I thought this was a serious discussion!”

“It _is!_ ” Dan almost pouts.

“You’re, what, 31?” How in the world would you be…” he looks over at the other members, their faces stagnant.

Dan wanted to throw up. _Actually_ throw up, not the rose bullshit.

“You don’t mean…” his voice is barely a whisper. Dan just nods.

The keyboardist looks like he’s gonna fucking _cry,_ and Dan’s screaming at himself because he _knew_ this was a terrible, fucking abysmal idea and it’s-

“Is it cancer?”

Dan looks at the man, his normally cheery face, his stupid, dorky he _loved,_ and tried to explain. “It’s Hanahaki Disease,” Deep breath, he’s gotten better after explaining it 5 billion times. “Basically, my body’s producing too much flesh, it somehow ends up in the lungs, and there’s also these thorn-like things, and it’s gonna inevitably choke me to death.”

“I, fuck, is there not a cure?”

Woody gives Dan a stink-eye, but Dan simply replies, “No.”

“Fuck.”

Will, sitting closest, pats Kyle’s shoulder as he puts his head into his hands.

“Do you,” sniff, “know how,” sniff, “long you’re gonna l-live?”

“No, it’s getting worse though.” Dan puts a hand in his hair before telling the crying man to come here, giving him a hug.

The bitter part of his mind is saying, _he’s crying so hard like he’s not the one killing me, like he’s not the reason that I’m going through this,_ but his rational thought tells Dan to comfort his bandmate, that he can’t force Kyle to love him.

It’s odd to think about how many times Kyle has comforted Dan after panic attacks and the like, yet Dan rarely returned the favor.

The flowers almost flowed while the two embraced.

  


Dan knew that he was going to die. Maybe he knew it from the start.

He talks to the group in a meeting, tries his best to explain that he has little time left without sobbing or shaking. They all deal well, nodding solemnly, and Dick cancels the upcoming concerts, as to let Dan spend the rest of his time with friends and family.

He does so, inviting them to his place for a party. They’re all talking, drinking, and while most don’t know how close he is to doom, they respect his desire to not talk about it. After the night, Dan sleeps well, and doesn’t feel sick in the morning.

Maybe it was because Kyle wasn’t there.

At 8:30 a.m., the keyboardist texts Dan:

(8:30) Kyle: Wanna hang out?  
(8:31) Kyle: There’s this boardwalk open and it’s free today, and I’d love to do it with you if you feel well enough.

(8:35) Kyle: I understand if you can’t.

(8:36) Dan: Sure! What time?

(8:36) Dan: Can you pick me up? I am NOT in the mood for driving.

(8:37) Kyle: Yeah, I’ll pick you up, babe. ;) 3pm good?

 

Why, oh why does Kyle have to be such a flirt at times like this? It’s quite literally killing him. Dan has a freakout in the time before they go, as he’s throwing up, holding onto the toilet bowl with all he’s got. Each time, the noises he makes are worse, his coughs sounding like someone’s last breaths.

Yet, when Kyle comes, he feels better almost instantly. The two hang out for a bit before Dan’s in the passenger seat, his knees up to his chest as he scrolls on his phone.

They don’t talk on the way, they just listen to the radio until they get there.

Dan didn’t know _why_ he loved boardwalks so much, why he loved riding the rides and the view of the ocean, but he couldn’t have asked for anything better than it.

His smile lit up on his face as he stared at the sea, Kyle’s hand on his shoulder as the two watched the waves crash.

The ferris wheel, the swings, _everything_ was there. This place even sold corndogs, which was a rarity in London.

By the end, the two rode every ride there was, and the moon was starting to light up the sea above them.

“So? Worth getting out of bed?” Kyle asked, grinning.

“Yeah. Thank you.” Dan smiled, looking at the ground. “For all of this.”

“Nothing better for my best friend, honestly. Wish we could do this every day.”

The two looked at the sea until they kicked those in the park out, not talking much, lost in their thought.

Afterwards, Kyle drove home, looking at the tired Dan near him.

The lights on the streets briefly illuminated their faces as Dan mustered up the courage to talk.

“Kyle, when I die, will you remember me?”

Kyle pulled over, he needed more time to talk than what the red lights would give him. Looking at what he could see of Dan’s blue eyes, he replied, “Mate, of course. It’s all weird to think about how you’re gonna be dead before I know it.” He took a deep breath, his hands shaking on his knees, “Y’know, if there i-is an afterlife, will _you_ remember _me?”_

“God, as if I could forget,” Dan laughed, tears running down his cheeks.

“This is stupid,” Kyle looked around as he put his arm on Dan’s shoulder, avoiding eye contact with the singer. “I hope you remember me, because I-, you’ve always been one of my best friends. But I guess, uh, you’ve got better things planned up there, or wherever,” He wiped away the tear threatening to leave his eye. “Just, don’t forget me.”

And in that moment, when those words hit him, Dan knew it was over.

He started coughing while crying, managing to say, “Kyle… It’s happening,” as he unbuckled himself and roses began to rise up inside of him.

Kyle started to panic, his entire body trembling. “Calm down, it’s okay,” he repeated, but Dan couldn’t tell if he was saying it to himself or Dan.

“Come here. Just, god, just come here. This isn’t happening,” Kyle told Dan, pulling him into the driver’s seat.

The two embraced, Dan’s mouth dripping blood all over Kyle’s shirt as he tried to apologize because even when he’s like this, of _course_ he apologizes for something so insignificant.

“They’re for you, Kyle, fuck,” Dan sobbed in between breaths. “They’ve always been for you and I’m betting that roses aren’t even your favorite flower and-“ he gasped for air, “But I’ve loved you for so _long_ and it’s not your fault, I could’ve stopped this but I didn’t, please don’t blame yourself, I-“

“Dan.” Kyle cries, holding Dan tighter. “It’s okay, stay calm. It’s okay.”

Dan used what strength he could gather to look into Kyle’s midnight-black eyes. “Kyle…” he started, “Hold on. Please, don’t let go.” he requested, the entire seat covered with the flowers at this point.

“God, Dan, I won’t let go, I never will.” Kyle tightened his grip.

And right there, in Kyle’s arms, as the petals that once seemed beautiful choked him, Dan’s pulse faded away.

Many called it a beautiful tragedy, yet Dan saw it as his happiest moment, when he clenched onto his lover who wasn’t meant to be, crying into his shoulder.

 

And Kyle didn’t let go.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> im sorry if i made you cry. i probably didn't but just in case. im sorry.
> 
> my twitter is @waybeyondlive. go follow me.
> 
> im really tired now. Uhghguhhhhhhhhhh!! w.
> 
> hanahaki fics are fun.


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